touch
by promessa
Summary: ME3, Conduit run. Love is eternal. MShep/Liara. One-shot.


**touch**

* * *

He thought he was prepared for this.

He has been escaping death for too long now, testing his luck one too many times. Missions against all odds, throwing himself over and over into the fire with a squad that trusted him to give them nothing if not a worthy death. And he has seen death. All its forms, he had believed. Dying courageously, battle-roars shaking the blood that filled the air. Dying wide-eyed and disbelieving, staring down the barrel of a gun. Dying slowly, clawing across the field screaming for mother. Dying with comrades, dying with regrets, dying with a smile, dying alone.

He has faced his own mortality so many times that he had always believed he would be prepared for when his time was truly up. Long before this moment, he had already planned out how his death would be. It was unlikely to be glorious, he had thought; that it would be done fighting the good fight and nothing more.

He thought he was prepared for this.

"Shepard. Shepard, is that you?"

He lies prone, completely paralyzed from the waist down. At least he hopes so. He can't remember how to move his neck, to see if there was anything remaining of his lower body. That motor function just seems to be missing.

He has his mind at least, he comforts himself. His hearing, his sight. His head is tilted just enough to his right side and his chin is low enough that he can make out his arm, bleeding, twisted and gouged with shrapnel from his own armor. But at least the arm is still visibly there, and that is something.

Medics are going to have a hell of a time repairing that one, he thinks for a moment. But he knows somewhere deep down that there would be no miracles this time, and never again.

He forces his eyes to move in their sockets, bringing his gaze up enough to judge her condition next to him.

She lies in a pool of her own seeping blood, the rivulets continuing to crawl out of her like a slow, violet nightmare. Sections of her armor have fused together and to her, an indecipherable charred mess that told him nothing of where flesh ended and plating began. The remains of her right arm, now ending with only a thumb and an index, rest in a limp hug around her midsection, hiding what was likely the worst of the damage. Though she is on her left side and facing him fully, her stare is empty and unfocused: the brightness and curiosity that used to light her expression are dim.

She draws in a breath, so small that it was as if she had not done so at all. There's a large gash on her forehead but she doesn't notice.

"Shepard?"

The first time he tries to answer nothing comes out but a distorted gurgle, air pushing out and through the blood in the back of his throat. For a moment he feels fear: genuine, adrenaline-rushing fear that he would die before her, silent. The force of this emotion courses through his dying muscles, invigorates him, fires just enough of his mind that he claws out of his exhaustion (he cannot remember feeling such a _weariness_ in his bones) and swallows hard before trying again.

"I'm here," he croaks.

Hope softens the hardness around her lips. She manages a weak, relieved smile.

Her left arm is missing. She is still the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.

"We were close," she whispers, proud, the smile now bleeding into her voice. "Weren't we?"

They are. The unnatural glow of the Conduit beam is only a few torturous lengths away, blocked by rubble and bodies, pulsating like the heartbeat of a beast. His helmet is actually closer than they are, though—a misshapen thing now, electronics crackling, searching for a signal.

"Yeah."

"Do you know if anyone else made it?"

Everyone ahead of them had been burned to cinders, that he can remember. But he doesn't know how long he has been out for, so it is impossible to say that_ no one_ had made it. Yet he can hear no movement around them, only the distant echoes of war from somewhere. It's only the silence of death that is left.

"I think so," he tells her, improbably and optimistically.

"Good," she breathes again, her voice just a little bit less vibrant than a second before. "Good. Then this will all end, one way or another."

She is quiet long enough afterwards for him to be concerned. "Stay with me, Liara."

"I am," she says immediately, with enough of a huff that he falls in love with her all over again. "I've never left. It's always you that leaves."

"I guess so," he replies, a chuckle welling up in his chest. He crushes it before it can reach the surface and shake his body. More movement means more blood loss, and he is not willing to waste any of it on something that is not productive. Though it is all hopeless and he knows that, he nevertheless clings to life, if only to keep her company.

He tests his muscles again, trying to drag his dying body those final few precious feet to her. But though his mind is still alight, his body is unresponsive.

"Shepard?" Her voice is soft, almost shy. It is strange that someone that had endured so much, that had hardened herself to do whatever was necessary on his behalf, could still sound as innocent and pure as when he had first met her on Therum.

"Liara?"

"Please. Talk to me. I still haven't got my sight back, so talk to me. That way I…" she suddenly chokes on her words, stumbles over them, and without preface, "I can still die with you in my heart."

And that is when he knows there is no future left for them, not anymore. He can't even offer her a lie, even for comfort; it felt wrong, to do so now.

So all he can do is grant her request.

"You know what I had planned, Liara? After all this?"

She's silent but he knows that she is listening, clinging to his words.

"We weren't even going to go to whatever stupid ceremony they were going to give us. We were just going to take the rest of the crew and fly off into the stars, like old times. And then when they least suspect it," he smiles, the vision appearing again before him, one that he had seen so many times before, "we just ditch them. All of them."

"All of them?" she asks with child-like wonder.

"All of them," he confirms, picturing their stunned reactions with relish. "No warning. No notice. And then we really get married. Wherever you want."

He pauses. "And we really have a lot of blue children."

"That sounds—" she coughs wetly for a few moments, and he would do anything to hold her hand through it all, "that sounds like quite the plan."

"And then we'd have family trips on a Mako."

"Oh goddess." She sputters a weak, but nevertheless surprised and delighted chuckle that both fills his heart and breaks it. "I'm not sure I would want to come along."

"You have to. You're still in charge of telling them about that time we saved the galaxy."

She continues to laugh for a little longer afterwards. The sound is enough to give him a sense of peace and his mind begins to atrophy again, slipping into darkness and disconnecting from reality. He catches himself just before his eyelids begin to close and he bites his own tongue, just hard enough to draw blood and keep awake. He knows that if he truly falls asleep, he would never wake again.

By the time he has regained awareness of his surroundings, he can hear her weeping quietly.

"I know this sounds stupid," she manages in a gasp that is a mixture of a sob, a chuckle, and a choke, "but I cannot help but feel this is the best death I could have asked for."

"No." He swallows again. "No. It's not."

"I do wish I could see you," she admits with a smile full of calm, her tears now visible and reflecting brightly. "But few asari die alongside their bondmates. I am… blessed… to have this opportunity."

"Liara. Please," he begs. "Please, stay with me."

"I always will." Her right arm moves for the first time, awkwardly, fumbling in the direction of his voice. He is careful to keep his gaze away from what her arm had been covering, if only to lie to himself for a bit longer.

"Shepard. Let's merge consciousness. It will… it will ease the passing, I think."

She paws the ground before her weakly and it is immediately clear to him that she has nothing left. It would be up to him.

He grits his teeth and summons all that he is to bring his body back to life. His training, his emotions, the desperation of it all; he does whatever he can to make something move, even just force a finger to twitch. But there is still nothing, his body still does not obey anything that his mind tells it to, and he practically screams in frustration at his powerlessness.

He is filled with an irrational, burning, all-consuming anger. That he would give all he had, wrung his very bones and sanity to try and save the galaxy—and that it could not grant him this tiniest bit of happiness, the barest flicker of hope during his passing, in return. That he would die in this manner.

He thought he was prepared for this.

"Liara," he manages, his voice steady despite it all. Because though he is dying his training never will, and even though he is crying now, his tears salty and bitter and hot down his cheeks, he is crying as he had been taught: silently, to avoid drawing attention. "Try and move a bit closer to me. I can't quite reach you."

She gives him another smile, the weakest yet.

"I can't. Oh, Shepard. I really can't."

She continues staring at him without light, her arm now lying useless between the two. The hopelessness of the situation is what fills the rest of the space between them, and in the silence gunfire cracks, mortars explode, and the fight continues without them, all a world away now.

"I need to let you know something," she finally says. Her breaths are slowing, voice now just the softest of murmurs.

"In this life, and the next. And forever. I am yours, Shepard."

He quells the sob threatening to escape his throat.

"As am I, Liara. Forever."

She shivers, once.

"I'm a little scared that my mother may be right. I don't see a light."

"Don't be scared. I'm right here."

"Always?" she asks, voice small, like a little girl.

"I'll be there for you. Always."

He doesn't know if she hears him. Her mouth is parted, just so, as if she had been in the process of answering him.

He waits. He waits and waits and she doesn't answer him, not even after he stares at her until he loses all track of time. Not even after he finally cannot fight it any longer and his eyes close and he falls into the darkness that he had feared.

He's tired now, so very tired. There's still so much left to do, but he's exhausted now and useless without her. He can only hope when he next wakes, maybe it will all be over like she had wished, and they would face whatever remained and whatever came after, hand in hand.

-End-


End file.
